


An Anniversary to Remember

by VictoriaAGrey



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Angst, Anniversary, Birthday, Drug Addiction, Established Relationship, Eventual Happy Ending, Flashbacks, Fluff, Humor, Love, M/M, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-02 09:29:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11506554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VictoriaAGrey/pseuds/VictoriaAGrey
Summary: Every year for their anniversary, House does something to show his commitment to Wilson and their relationship. All seems well until he realizes that Wilson's anniversary presents don't.It all starts to spiral out of control from there./// NOW COMPLETE ///





	1. Years One Through Four

**Author's Note:**

> This fic starts with House and Wilson getting together during season five, sometime after reconciling from Amber's death but before Kutner's suicide. As you will see, them getting together will have a ripple effect. Somethings we know happen in the series will also happen here, but others won't. 
> 
> If there is any need for clarity, please feel free to shoot me some questions!

Gregory House had never been one to put much importance on anniversaries of any kind.

Birthdays? Forget it, literally sometimes. He didn't care to have a reminder that the great hunk of rock and water he resided on went around a flaming ball of gas one more time since his last birthday. As for anyone else's, he didn't do much better. He'd forgotten Stacy's the first year they were together because of a case and she had been hurt in her own, quiet way. Feeling like a complete ass, he went overkill and gotten them box seats for a performance of Swan Lake on Broadway; a move guaranteed to work since she loved it and she would get the added bonus of knowing he hated it but would keep his mouth shut. She accepted it for the apology that it was and when they got home, he told her firmly, but gently, that if she wanted him to remember her birthday, she needed to remind him in the weeks and days leading up to it. That particular system worked until after his infarction, when she failed to mention it at all and he remembered it for the express purpose of being more belligerent than usual that day.

As for Wilson, House knew that he made a point of making sure there were no reminders around to tip him off to his impending birthday. House once put on his best sad face and said that wounded him to his core, but Wilson just glared back and reminded him that the last time House remembered his birthday he'd woken up the next day on a stage in a local theater, covered in marshmallow whip and resting his head in the lap of a stripper named Bubblegum. Not to mention the very irate wife at home. House rolled his eyes. He hated Bonnie anyway.

Then there were wedding and dating anniversaries. He purposely blocked out his parent's anniversary and the one's Wilson had with his wives. When it came to his and Stacy's anniversary, she didn't care if he remembered because she was the one who always scheduled it. She would reserve a paintball field for them and their party and since that in itself acted as a reminder, he would schedule a nice dinner for them on the coming weekend. Again, this day went unmentioned after the infarction and in a move he only later acknowledged as being particularly nasty, faked a muscle spasm in his mangled leg, using it as an excuse to yell at her until she fled the apartment and called Wilson over to take care of him.

It took House years to figure out that only when he was angry and in pain did he remember special days, using them as a way to drag down whoever was involved so they felt a margin of what he did towards a perceived betrayal so they would be as miserable as him on what should be a happy day. The revelation had made him nauseous and in a bid to forget it, he drowned himself in so many drinks and pills he blacked out. Unfortunately for him, the revelation stuck.

But he was different now, changed in a way that was universally acknowledged as being in a good way. He still had the bum leg and an addiction to painkillers. Still got punched by patients and patient family members on a semi-regular basis. The number one word used to describe him was still 'ass.' But he had managed to find a spark of happiness in the world and keep it, even tend to it so it was bright and burning hot. He had settled down, in more ways than one.

House had been absolutely convinced that dating Wilson would be a disaster of epic proportions, between his airport carousel's worth of emotional baggage and Wilson's seeming inability to keep it in his pants, it had no right to work, but it did. Since that fateful night when House accidentally poked the ticklish part of Wilson's side as punishment for taking the remote and he giggled that stupid giggle that scrunched up his whole face and House couldn't _not_ kiss him, they lived in relative happiness under the same roof and slept in the same bed.

The biggest change came by way of remembering and celebrating anniversaries. He still didn't tend to remember Wilson's birthday, much to Wilson's relief, but he did make a point of remembering the day he kissed him for the first time. Wilson was a sentimental fool and House figured he deserved something after dealing with him for nearly two decades and now dating, so making a point to remember their anniversary it was. Not to say that he did whatever he set his mind on on the exact day, that was Wilson's jig, but he always did something that showed his commitment to their relationship around that time and Wilson always recognized it for what it was.

And if it served the additional purpose of reminding Wilson's adulterous tendencies that he was taken, and in turn quieting House's buried fear that he would stray some day, then so be it.

The first time he did something was for their six month anniversary. He had always hated when people celebrated their six month like it was some great accomplishment, so he blamed the excess dopamine flooding his brain for the ding that his great gesture was sure to cause his reputation. Being in love was a bitch like that.

_Wilson was suspicious of House not just willingly, but voluntarily, going to a hospital fundraiser that didn't include poker night. House was nearly giddy with how suspicious he was, eyes tracking him around the room, keeping as close to him as possible while still mingling with the donors. It was hilarious. Just to ensure that Wilson would be kept on his toes until he sprung his surprise, he'd worn his best tuxedo and was even acting personable with everyone. Wilson was practically sweating bullets after five minutes._

_After nearly an hour of soaking in Wilson's mounting distrust of the evening, he decided to put him out of his misery. Wilson was being approached by Mr. and Mrs. Moneybags, aka the oldest and biggest donors the hospital had. When he stopped casting House a wary expression in order to greet them, House started making his way over._

_"Mr. and Mrs. Rosenstein, it's a pleasure to see you again," he heard Wilson say over the din._

_"Likewise Dr. Wilson," Mr. Corporate Settlement greeted. "I wanted to congratulate you on getting the grant for your breast cancer trial."_

_"Yes!" Mrs. I Love Wearing My Wealth added enthusiastically. "I was delighted to read of it in the latest newsletter. You were quite passionate about it when we last spoke."_

_He could swear he felt Wilson beaming at them. He'd put so much work into getting the funding for the trial that House, willing to do anything he could to help Wilson get what he knew he deserved, attached a recommendation knowing that his name still managed to carry some clout. Wilson only found out he did it after he was informed that not only did he get the grant, but was allotted a massive increase in funding because of the recommendation. Wilson had been borderline euphoric for a week and House's dick reaped the rewards. Honestly, it was a win-win situation._

_"Thank you so much. A lot went into making it happen and -"_

_He felt Wilson tense when he placed a hand on his back. House nearly laughed, but instead flashed a winning smile at Mr. and Mrs. Steal From The Rich To Give To Themselves._

_"Don't let me interrupt you! I just wanted to make sure you weren't dying from -"_

_"Mr. and Mrs. Rosenstein," he sputtered loudly, stopping House from finishing his sentence. "Let me introduce you to one of the hospital's more esteemed doctors." And wow House nearly keeled over at Wilson sounding like he knew he was going to regret those words in two seconds flat. "Dr. Gregory House, he's -"_

_"- the old ball and chain!" he interrupted gleefully, enjoying the sight of Mr. and Mrs. We Have An Estate For Every Season's eyes widening. "Also the head of diagnostics, but who cares about that," he finished with false modesty and sarcasm he knew Wilson would immediately pick up on. Transferring his cane to his other hand, he held out his right in greeting. He was mildly surprised to see Mr. My Yacht Is Bigger Than Yours take it readily with a large smile._

_House faked being shocked about his reputation preceding him ("And how undeserved!" Mrs. I Only Drink Dom Perignon exclaimed), all the while paying attention to Wilson, who was looking at him with such naked adoration he nearly squirmed. With that simple pronouncement, he had not only dragged them out of the closet, but called them a couple for the first time. He later thought, as Wilson raked his fingers through his hair, that if he had known Wilson would react so well, he might not have lasted to the six month mark._

Recognizing the resounding success of his first anniversary surprise / commitment reminder, House decided to do something similar for their one year anniversary. He'd already done the heavy lifting of outing the them as a couple, knowing news would spread fast among the donors (who were eager to prove they were young, hip, and with it by donating more because of their 'gay doctor, power couple dynamic,' which thrilled Cuddy so much he didn't have to do clinic hours for _a month_ ; another win in his corner) and the rest of the hospital there after. He'd even been nice and treated Wilson to lunch with the money he cleared through the hospital betting pool via Cuddy's informed bet. House was at a loss for what to do next that would pack a similar punch until three weeks before the day when Cuddy was chasing him around the hospital trying to lasso him into doing paperwork.

_At the sound of Cuddy's office door hesitantly opening, House turned around and smiled widely._

_"So happy you could join us, honey!"_

_Wilson rolled his eyes so extravagantly that House briefly contemplated contacting NASA to make sure the Earth's axis hadn't shifted. "Hard not to since you cancelled my appointment and wrote 'Cuddy's ass, 10 o'clock' in its place, shnookums."_

_Cuddy sighed heavily behind him. "It's almost comforting to know you're still an ass through all this domestic bliss."_

_House watched Wilson take in the scene before him. Thirteen and Chase were lounging on the couch doing an atrocious job of hiding their smiles. His eyes then roamed to Cuddy's desk, which was lined with paperwork, and up to Cuddy herself, who was probably doing just as bad a job as Thirteen and Chase in hiding her smile. Wilson looked unnerved._

_"What's going on?" he asked, pointing a finger between Thirteen and Chase. "Why are they here?"_

_"Had to invite my favorite children to this joyous occasion."_

_Chase snickered at the same time Thirteen scoffed. Maybe he wasn't that far off in referring to them as his children._

_"You, joyous?" Wilson was wearing his Analyzing House's Bad Behavior face and his hands were on his hips. "Did hell freeze over? I did miss the weather report this morning."_

_House's smile turned lascivious. "I don't recall you complaining about my wake up call."_

_Everyone groaned in unison. Hearing their exasperation in-stereo was made interesting by the surround sound aspect of their placements around him._

_"They're our witnesses," House relented, when Wilson stopped looking ready to smack him._

_Wilson startled. "Witnesses? To what?"_

_"I'm making you my emergency contact," he said as he foisted the paper in the air and waved it at him._

_Wilson grabbed the paper from him with a glare for the obnoxious gesture. "I'm already your -"_

_House watched as Wilson looked over the form and caught the second Wilson realized what the purpose was for redoing the document. His face softened and his smile became warm._

_"Partner."_

_It was with great reluctance that he acknowledged Cuddy making him do paperwork had finally served an actual purpose. While signing his name to a form regarding malpractice insurance (she always looked especially hostile when he signed anything regarding malpractice), he remembered that when he was filing his emergency information, he had labeled Wilson as his 'friend' on the line asking for 'relationship to contact.' Forgetting the form in front of him, he turned to Cuddy and told her he needed to redo any forms that involved Wilson and listing a relationship to him. She'd looked baffled and irritated at his shift in focus until she realized why._

_Cuddy had made the rest smooth sailing from there._

_"Congratulations! You're now watching House and Wilson Get the Legal Treatment."_

_One by one, House handed Wilson the forms regarding emergency information, medical power of attorney, and financial power of attorney. All listed him as House's 'partner' on the line asking for their relation._

_"Sounds like the title of a really boring porno," Wilson quipped absentmindedly, still flipping through the pages and smiling at what he saw._

_House smirked. "Don't worry. Ours -"_

_"NO!"_

_"Fucking hell."_

_"Stop!"_

_Wilson seemed to come back to them from cloud nine thanks to the yells of the room's other three occupants. Putting propriety aside, Wilson stopped smiling long enough to give House a chaste kiss before taking the pen from Cuddy's proffered hand. The smile never left his face as he signed where his signature was needed and then while Cuddy, Thirteen, and Chase did their part._

_"We're now as legal as we're ever gonna get," House proclaimed, knowing exactly what he was not-so-subtly implying. "How do you feel?"_

_Wilson's smile faltered for only a moment before it was back in full force._

_"Good. I feel good."_

Only years later did that flicker in Wilson's smile come back to haunt House. Thinking nothing of it at the time, high on his own brilliant idea and Wilson's obvious pleasure with the little change, he brushed it aside to focus on bullying Cuddy into letting them off so they could go get off. She pretended to be disgusted by the suggestion and put up a token protest, but she let them go and needless to say, he didn't think about anything beyond the bedroom door for the rest of the day.

As for what Wilson did for their anniversary, he flew them out to Vegas for one of the wildest weekends of his life, which was truly saying something because once during med school he woke up in a mansion wearing nothing but a tiara, waking to roam the empty halls looking for his clothes only to get chased out by a donkey. The lack of cocaine involved probably explained why he remembered the weekend with Wilson, but still, it was no less fun.

For their second anniversary, it didn't take House nearly as long to think of what he could do, but it was such a big step that he did take several weeks to ruminate on its pluses and minuses. In the end, the decision was made because he did something he prided himself on never doing: he put logic aside and did what felt right.

_"Tick tock, Wilson."_

_Beyond glancing up from the patient file in front of him, Wilson didn't react to House's agitated presence. House impatiently tapped his cane on the floor as he gave him another solid thirty seconds to finally get moving, but he didn't budge._

_"You're killin' me, smalls!" he bellowed._

_"You're only two inches taller than me," Wilson calmly responded as he marked something on the chart in front of him. "And stop quoting the Sandlot."_

_"Heroes get remembered, but legends never die."_

_"Everybody dies."_

_House squinted at Wilson, his mind running a mile a minute. "And people say I'm the morbid one. One of your cue balls kick the bucket today?"_

_"And with that comment, you reclaim the title." Wilson leaned back in his chair and rubbed his hands over his face. "No, no one died today. I just, I don't know. I haven't been feeling like myself lately."_

_Internally, House agreed with him. At first he'd become anxious, thinking Wilson was gearing up to have an affair, but the signs were all wrong and, in fact, the reverse of what they were normally. When Wilson was getting close to cheating for the first time in a relationship, he was miserable for weeks before gradually perking up again. This time, he'd been perfectly happy until about a week ago when he suddenly turned maudlin and unreachable. He'd been avoiding House at work and then coming home late. Didn't wake up early to make breakfast. Didn't retaliate when House put hair bleach in his shampoo, turning him into a dirty blonde (which, fuck Wilson. He wasn't supposed to actually look good with his new hair)._

_House had become so desperate he pulled out the big guns and started a Hitchcock marathon, making sure to slip in the dark Cary Grant one. Still, Wilson's mood never lifted. The mood change made him question whether or not he should go through with his plan, but decided against it. Their relationship was different in every way for Wilson. By year two, if the relationship even lasted that long, Wilson had either cheated or had started exhibiting the signs that he was about to. But here they were, a few days shy of their two year anniversary, and neither scenario had happened. He had been faithful, and in a way, House's surprise was his way of saying that he recognized this and was rewarding it._

_No, come hell or high water, his plan was happening. He'd already set the pieces into motion and he wasn't looking back. Didn't want to._

_"Well, like the great Confucius said, there's no time like the present."_

_"Confucius was dead at least 2,000 years before someone said that."_

_House smacked a hand to his forehead. "My bad. I confused Madonna and Confucius again."_

_Wilson smirked and thankfully there wasn't a sad edge to it. "Easy mistake to make, what with their similar taste in clothes and terrible eyebrows."_

_"Think he ever faked a British accent?"_

_"No, but I have it on good authority he had a cone bra."_

_Both laughed and the heaviness that had been weighing Wilson down for over a week was forgotten for the moment. After a minute or so, Wilson finally caved to House's pestering and got out from behind his desk to follow him out of the hospital, trying various ways of getting him to spill where they were going, all to no avail. The drive was only about ten minutes and when House parked, it was in front of an old Italianate style building, obviously restored and quite beautiful. Without a word, House got out of the car and made his way up the steps of the white stone building, knowing Wilson was right behind him. He noticed Wilson lagging behind, wanting to read the inscription on the brass plate giving a brief history of the building, but House didn't slow. Now that they were here, he was nervous and stopping wouldn't help._

_The man behind the front desk gave House a nod of recognition before going back to his work. Wilson was still looking around like a lost child in a candy store when they got into the elevator, House pushing for the top floor._

_"House, where are we?"_

_"Wonka's. Brace yourself, this is the glass elevator."_

_Thankfully, the elevator doors parted before Wilson could continue his interrogation. House walked down the hall they were in and took the key out of his pocket, putting it into the lock and turning it. He held the door open for Wilson and stood back to allow him in to explore._

_The Penthouse, as House already took to calling it, was empty but for the fading sunlight coming in through the windows. He'd never been here at sunset, only in the morning when his team and Wilson just thought he was playing his usual game of hooky to irritate Cuddy, and he couldn't say for sure which time was better. In the morning, the place was brightly lit and showed off every hue in the dark Brazilian cherry wood floor, but at sunset, the white walls were painted in oranges, yellows, and pinks. It inspired the musician in him._

_Wilson slowly walked through the foyer into the living room and then into the restored chief's kitchen. He was touching everything, trailing his hand over the marble counter tops, white cabinets, and stainless steel appliances. He stared wondrously at the recessed ceiling design. The tour of the rest of The Penthouse's three bedrooms and two and a half bathrooms went much the same way. House felt the tension in his back loosen, Wilson obviously liked the place, but he was still strung tighter than usual._

_"House, this place..." Wilson briefly trailed off as he looked out of the master bedroom's bay window. "It's beautiful."_

_"You like it?"_

_"Like it? I love it! What -"_

_House didn't hide his relieved smile as he reached into his coat's inside pocket and pull out a sheaf of folded paper. "Good, because this could've gotten really awkward if you didn't."_

_Wilson took the bundle he held out, eyes widening when he saw both their names attached to the $1.5 million bid for The Penthouse._

_"Amazing what two department heads living in sin can afford."_

_"Are we... is this place ours?"_

_"If they accept our bid, yeah, it's ours."_

_Silence pervaded the room, Wilson just staring up at him with so much love it made House ache, and to cover it up, he started talking, unable to take the quiet intimacy for much longer._

_"We can each have one of the other rooms, that way on those nights when we get on each other's nerves we have our own space to retreat to. You won't have to sleep on the couch anymore, which should be nice since you peed on it at one point. As for -"_

_"House."_

_Still not able to look at him, House looked somewhere over his right shoulder. "...yeah?"_

_"Shut up."_

_Wilson folded the papers back up and came over to House, putting his arms around his neck and pulling him into a tight hug. He felt him kiss the side of his head and House melted into it then, hugging him back._

_"Thank you."_

_House nodded in reply, deciding to leave the tender moment alone._

Wilson's foul mood didn't make another appearance after that night and, in fact, lifted considerably when on the day of their anniversary they got the call that The Penthouse was theirs. They weren't able to answer the call since they were flying to Atlanta for a monster truck rally, Wilson's anniversary present, but they listened to the voicemail when they landed. Wilson had been so excited that he did what House supposed was his uncoordinated attempt at a happy dance and he was too busy smiling at Wilson's joy to mock him for it. Two weeks later, they were moved into The Penthouse and happily arguing in various furniture stores over how to decorate their place.

It took a few months, but House was proven right about the benefits of them each having their own space. During cases that were proving tricky, he would retreat to his room to pour over the various medical texts he stored on the bookshelves that covered the walls. Sometimes he just wanted to be alone and tinker around on his guitars or the organ Wilson got him for his birthday (he said it was also a thank you for forgetting _his_ birthday yet again). He also had a couch that pulled out into a bed, but he'd never purposely fell asleep in there; the one time being during a case and he'd quite literally passed out on an open book.

Wilson, on the other hand, had very purposely used his room for sleeping. He also used it to store medical texts and journals, generally using it as a satellite office, but its truest purpose was served during the handful of times when they fought and the last thing he wanted to do was sleep in the same bed as House. House hated those nights, he would toss and turn, pissed off that he'd grown so accustomed to having Wilson in his bed, knowing the asshole was perfectly content sleeping on his stupid pull down bed in the other room. On one such occasion, Wilson had been so incensed about House's generally bad behavior for several days, culminating in him making a horrendously insensitive comment about one of Wilson's cancer kids _in front_ of said kid, that he didn't speak or sleep with him for two days. It was going to turn into a third night alone and House, having solved his case and now having nothing better to do than stew in how wrong he'd been since he couldn't fucking sleep, went into Wilson's room and apologized, even humbling himself and asking him to please come back to their bed. Wilson was obviously still upset, but he did go back with him.

That incident is what inspired House's next anniversary surprise / commitment reminder. House, being cautious for once in his life and a tad scared that him and Wilson having a place that was expressly _theirs_ would backfire, had kept 221B as a safety net if everything fell apart. It was largely empty, having no food in the kitchen, no books on the shelves, or even a TV. All that was left were the bare necessities in the bathroom, his old bed, and - most importantly - his piano. At first he told himself that he left it behind because it would be such a hassle to move it from the apartment to The Penthouse, but really it was because it was the only thing keeping House from one day impulsively getting rid of the place before he was sure him and Wilson in their new place would work out.

A year of co-owning The Penthouse with Wilson proved that while they may still fight and need time apart, they would always come back to each other. Or Wilson would come back to him. House wasn't going anywhere, that he knew for sure. Wilson was it for him. Stacy leaving had nearly destroyed him. Wilson leaving _would_ destroy him.

So, he took the plunge and said goodbye to 221B.

_In order for his plan to work, House had to conspire with Cuddy to get Wilson out of The Penthouse on a Saturday, one of his usual days off, in order to not raise suspicion. Luckily for him, she had various proposals from Wilson regarding drug trials he wanted to run that needed approval, so calling him in to review them didn't set off any alarm bells. His time scale was going to be tight, so the second Wilson was out of the door, House launched into action._

_First he went back to 221B and trashed the few things he left in the bathroom in case he ever stayed the night, which he never did even though he did occasionally go back to play his piano. Next he had the movers trash his bed, then leave to go wait at The Penthouse for him. When the piano movers arrived he was a bundle of nerves and worst of all, he couldn't even be mean to the big brutes because they were the ones handling his very expensive, very beloved piano. As he closed the door on 221B for the last time, he was mildly surprised to realize he wouldn't miss it._

_The move went off without a hitch in the end, the movers rearranging the furniture in the living room so the piano movers had space to work with to set up his piano. Once it was set up, the movers yet again moved everything around to accommodate for the large addition. The living room was big so space wasn't exactly an issue, but there was the matter of finding a set up that he liked. It took him a while for him to settle on a layout, but once he did, all that was left was for Wilson to come home. He texted Cuddy that the coast was clear and waited._

_Thirty minutes later, House heard Wilson come in over the sound of him playing the song he wrote and the savant with half a brain helped him finish. He was thrilled, the acoustics of the place were lovely._

_"You moved in your piano?" Wilson asked, confused as he wandered through their newly rearranged living room._

_"Nope. Only through the sheer force of my will are you seeing me play the piano. Really, I'm just playing with myself."_

_Wilson smirked at the innuendo. "If you were playing with yourself, wouldn't your hands have to be a little lower?"_

_"Not if I'm suddenly as big as that dude we saw in that porno a few years ago." House laughed at Wilson's shudder._

_"Please, don't remind me. I still have nightmares about that dick."_

_"There's no way it was real."_

_"I don't care. I'm still horrified."_

_Pressing down on several keys at once, House made the most god awful sound his precious piano ever made. He smiled at Wilson cringing. "I want lunch."_

_"As ever, you really know how to charm a man," Wilson mumbled, barely loud enough for him to hear. "I can make you a -"_

_"Nope! I wanna go out."_

_Wilson drew in a deep, calming breath. "Can't we just order something in?"_

_"Stop trying to get out of date night," House proclaimed, then put on his best pleading face. "Don't you want to show me off anymore? Just because I'm no longer the fair maiden of yo-"_

_"I'm not even going to try to dissect all the ways that was disturbing and wrong," he sighed, walking away and signalling for House to follow. "Come on, princess, it's date night at twelve o'clock."_

_House jumped up and quickly followed him, eager for Wilson to get his surprise. They walked to the private parking structure behind their building that housed their cars, Wilson walking towards his Volvo, but House stopped a few cars back._

_"I don't wanna take your ugly Volvo."_

_Wilson turned and put his hands on his hips. "And I'm not riding in that piece of crap you've had for fifteen years or on the back of that death trap."_

_"Crotch rocket."_

_"Whatever," Wilson said with a roll of his eyes. "The point stands. It's my Volvo or nothing."_

_"Not even a Tesla Roadster?"_

_Wilson's happy expression was positively dripping with sarcasm. "Sure. I'd love to. I'll just stand here and wait while you pull one out of your ass in the next ten seconds."_

_That was just... that was too good for House to pass up. No self-respecting House in any universe would. Turning to face the car beside him, he spread his arms wide and loudly proclaimed, "Behold what years of gay sex has enabled me to pull out of my ass!"_

_Wilson came over and saw the burnt orange, convertible beauty House was showcasing. "You have got to be kidding me."_

_"Whoever said I don't treat my man right," House balked, pulling out the car's registration card and handing it to Wilson. "Happy anniversary of putting up with me on a daily basis for three years!"_

_House watched as a slack-jawed Wilson processed the registration card listing them as the owners of the new Tesla Roadster. It was the perfect car to surprise Wilson with. Wilson was becoming more environmentally conscious, House wanted speed, and they both liked the sleek design of the sports car. It had been delivered the previous day and he'd bribed one of their neighbors to let him use their spot for the day so Wilson would get the car and the 221B revelation at the same time. House was feeling quite proud of himself._

_"I sold 221B." Wilson looked up at him, the shock of his expression deepening. "I used some of the profit from the sale to buy the car. Oh, and that old piece of shit got towed away last night. It's in a little cube in a junkyard at this very moment."_

_Wilson looked beside himself, taking in everything House was saying and what it meant. House cut all his ties to his previous life and left himself with only the present and the future. For a man who deeply resented change, it was a massive step and Wilson knew it._

_Putting both hands on House's arms, Wilson squeezed them tightly, the emotion of the moment obviously overwhelming him. "I love you so fucking much right now."_

_"I know," House responded, appreciating the emotion but wanting to diffuse its charged nature quickly. "Want to prove it?"_

_"Anything."_

_"Take me for a ride." And then, because he really couldn't resist, "In the car. The other ride can come later."_

_He then handed the keys to Wilson, who gave him a hard kiss before literally jumping in behind the wheel. They drove for over an hour into Hoboken to eat at a cafe where House had taken them for one of their first official dates. After that date, House had driven them back to 221B; this time, Wilson was driving them back to their home._

House never did regret selling 221B and his old car. They both tied him back to something he wanted nothing to do with anymore. His future was with Wilson and letting go connected him fully to what he wanted most.

Wilson's anniversary gift came a few weeks later, when he flew them out to Louisiana (even though he could still technically get arrested for his past offenses. _The wildcat_ , House mentally gushed) and put them up in the French Quarter. The bar where Wilson had caused a scene and been arrested was long since closed, but some of the places they ate and drank at during the time they should've been schmoozing at the conference nearly twenty years ago were still open, so figuring out where they would eat wasn't difficult. They also went to the Saints and Patriots game at the Superdome, House wearing a Patriots jersey to piss people off and cheering loudly whenever the Patriots scored and inevitably won.

The big surprise, though, came when they arrived home. They dropped their bags in the foyer and walked into the living room, House immediately noticing something was different when Wilson flipped on the lights. There, above the fireplace, was the original antique mirror Wilson shattered all those years ago, landing him in jail and leading House to bail his sorry ass out. He came up behind House and put his arms around him, explaining how he'd tracked down the family who had owned the bar and thrown enough money at them that they finally agreed to surrender the restored mirror by their anniversary, but House wasn't really listening. He chose to marvel at the mirror instead, touched that Wilson had found the tangible _something_ that brought them together. To fit the occasion, he lifted one of Wilson's hands that was clasped around his stomach and kissed it before walking to his piano and playing the song that Wilson was once conditioned to hate, but grew to love again.

That mirror served as a daily reminder of how far they'd come. It soothed House to see, especially when they'd have a fight. It meant that no matter what happened, they could weather the storm. They'd come too far to give up on each other.

But it also made House think of how his anniversary surprises were always about commitment and that the mirror was the first time Wilson's could be seen in a similar light. Admittedly, House loved the trips they took, but the mirror made him see everything in a new perspective. Every surprise he did for anniversaries were meant to show his commitment to the relationship (and to remind Wilson to keep his dick in his pants), but Wilson's never did; except for that fucking mirror and House felt there was a special kind of irony swimming around there. With a sudden intensity, he realized he wanted Wilson to extend a gesture of commitment like he did every year.

For the first time since their relationship started, House seriously considered marrying Wilson.

He didn't think he would ever want to get married, he'd never considered marrying Stacy, even at the pinnacle of his love for her, but now he was giving serious thought to marrying Wilson. It was what Wilson _did_. He married the women he fell madly in love with and House knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Wilson loved him more than he ever loved them. And yet here House was, over three years into a relationship with him, and he hadn't so much as caught a whiff of Wilson thinking of proposing to him. He knew it was probably his fault, he'd made god knows how many cracks about Wilson's 'chronic marrying syndrome' and how he didn't want to get grouped in with his ex-wives, and now he had to consider whether he may have preemptively shot himself in the foot.

And that's when it came back to House, Wilson's faltered smile when he said "we're now as legal as we're ever gonna get" after Wilson had signed legal documents signifying him as his partner. For a moment, he couldn't believe it. One comment - _one!_ \- was all it took to forever dissuade Wilson of the notion of proposing to him!? After thinking about it for a forlorn moment, House realized that yes, that one comment, combined with years of other comments in a similar vein, had been enough.

Years of signs came to him and coalesced before his eyes. That faltered smile. Wilson's depressed state around the time of their second anniversary. The mirror on their third anniversary. It all made sense. Wilson had gone out and got the mirror as tangible proof of his commitment to the relationship, not just for its symbolic nature regarding their relationship, but in surrender. This was him showing he had given up the hope of marrying House and that after three years, he accepted it. Instead of putting a ring on his finger, he gave him the mirror.

House was distressed. It just figured that the second he started considering marriage was the second Wilson gave up the notion. And damn it, Wilson was supposed to be the one who saw past his shit! He was supposed to know that House only made all those cracks about Wilson's marriages and his wives because he was jealous and now that they were together he would happily marry him. But that wasn't quite true either. He'd just started to think about it and now, much like a kid who was told they can't have something, wanted it badly. It took him three years to get here. There was no way for Wilson to know that he would ever get to the point of considering marriage and not throw up at the idea.

The thought occurred to House that he could propose to Wilson on an upcoming anniversary if he decided it was what he truly wanted and not merely the impulse of wanting what he couldn't have, but he dismissed the thought before it had the chance to take flight. Odds were that Wilson wouldn't believe him if he did, or worse, he would think it was a prank meant to mock him with the possibility. No, House knew he couldn't be the one to do it. He couldn't risk the worst case scenario because he knew how hard it must have been for Wilson to give up on marrying him and that it would hurt him deeply if he thought it was just a joke. No, he decided that if he really did want to get married, he would have to come up with some new tactics to cajole Wilson into proposing to him.

After nearly a year of consideration, the longest he had ever contemplated a single idea, House came to the conclusion that he really did want to marry Wilson. They were stable in their relationship, House would go so far as to say they were happy, and best of all, Wilson still hadn't stuck his dick anywhere it didn't belong. Marriage would seal the deal, ensuring his name was forever entwined with Wilson's and that Wilson would finally come full circle in their relationship like he had originally wanted. It was perfect, a win-win situation if he ever saw one.

The best part is that it would also serve as an additional block to Wilson cheating if he ever so much as thought about straying because Wilson didn't cheat _because_ he was married, he cheated in spite of it, and it always made it harder to do. With everything House had done to show his commitment over the years, combined with everything Wilson stood to lose if he did cheat on him, marriage would make it so he'd rather jump off a cliff than tap whatever pretty young thing threw themselves at him. In House's book, this took marrying Wilson from being a win-win situation to a win-win-win situation. Yes, he definitely had to marry Wilson now.

Luckily, his new resolve would play right into his anniversary surprise for their fourth anniversary. It was like killing two birds with one stone, which was great because he hated birds anyway. He was going to use a new tactic he came up with to test the marriage waters that had the benefits of not only not incriminating him if something went wrong, but of coming from a natural source who had taken to delicately voicing certain... concerns to him lately.

_"And that's when I told her that if she didn't stop saying such terrible things about my boy, I was going to shove those roses so far down her throat she'd have to stick the hose up her ass to water them."_

_"Mom!" Zach, Wilson's youngest brother, choked out around the chip in his mouth._

_House laughed and tilted his wine glass towards Sophie. "Talk shit, get hit."_

_"Oh, Jesus," Wilson said under his breath, looking absolutely pained by the current conversation._

_"Damn right," she agreed as she clinked her glass with House's. "Nobody talks about any of my boys without paying the price."_

_Much to Wilson's equal pleasure and confusion, House had somehow fostered a weirdly functional relationship with his mother ever since they met. Sophie was mild-mannered, polite, and proper. She was also fiercely protective of her family and prone to emotional outbursts that produced hilarious results. House loved telling her about the most inappropriate things he said to patients and various people because, where most people would be appalled, she would laugh and tell him stories where she said things just as bad._

_"One time I told one of my patients that if he made one more comment about my cane I was going to shove it so far up his ass that I would be using his skull as its new rubber tip."_

_Zach's jaw dropped and Wilson grimaced, looking like he was reassessing his belief that God was a force of good in the universe._

_"Good for you, honey," she said, reaching over and patting his arm. "He deserved it."_

_House turned to Wilson and gave him his best shit eating grin before taking another sip of his sangria. He was having such a great time entertaining Sophie and disgusting everyone else that he nearly forgot the day's objective; that is, until he heard a distinctive knock on the front door._

_"I'll get," Sophie said, putting her sangria aside and bracing her hands on the arms of the chair she was sitting in._

_"No, no, I've got it," House quickly replied, already leveraging his cane to help himself up._

_"If it's Uncle Darren, tell him he's late and he owes me $20."_

_That's another thing he liked about her; she didn't coddle him because of his disability. He turned around and winked at her. "I'll tell him it's $50."_

_Opening the door, House smiled at his mother, who was holding a basket of what he knew was most likely her homemade malasadas, a recipe she had perfected when his father had been briefly stationed in Hawaii. They were his favorite._

_"Mom."_

_"Hi, honey," she said sweetly, her smile widening when she saw his. "I'm sorry I'm late, but -"_

_"It's fine, I don't care," he brushed off, nerves coming back to him now that he remembered why she was there. "Do you remember what we talked about?"_

_"Of course! I've been waiting my whole life to embarrass you like this."_

_He could only imagine. Very rarely did she get a chance like this, nevertheless been asked to do it. "Mom!"_

_"Oh, don't fret. I'm a mother, I know what I'm doing."_

_House let her in and closed the door behind her, then led her into the family room where he'd been with Wilson, Sophie, and Zach, who had thankfully left the room. When she entered, Wilson looked surprised, but recovered with a thrilled expression. Much like House and Sophie, Wilson and Blythe had a good relationship, with the obvious exception that theirs wasn't built on telling increasingly crass stories._

_"Blythe, it's so good to see you!"_

_"James," Blythe practically cooed, opening her arms and giving him a hug that reeked with tenderness. Really, it was gross how much she loved Wilson. "I've missed you."_

_Leaning away from her after she stopped hugging into him how much she missed him, he pointed at the basket in her hands. "Can I take that from you? Whatever it is, it smells delicious."_

_"Yes, what is that delightful smell?"_

_Sohpie had gotten up from her chair and was now standing next to Wilson. House swallowed heavily, nervous because he desperately wanted this meeting to go well. It meant a lot to him that his mom and Sophie get along. It was a foreign feeling and he wasn't sure what to do with it._

_"Mom, this is Sophie, James' mom. Sophie, this is my mother, Blythe."_

_House took the basket from his mom so she could greet Sophie, him watching their greeting and hug like a hawk, looking for potential signs of turbulence. That's when he noticed Wilson looking at him with intense scrutiny, obviously noticing how nervous he was, which was noteworthy in itself. Then the moment's significance seemed to hit Wilson and he smiled, its warmth working its way through House's chest._

_Every year, Wilson's family held a mini family reunion where anyone who could make it was encouraged to come and those who couldn't weren't faulted. Wilson loved going and seeing his family, but he wasn't able to go every year. House made sure they were able to go this year and ensured that his own mother was able to attend. He'd even scheduled it so they arrived early, guaranteeing them a private moment before the others started to arrive._

_This was the meeting of the families. In terms of showing his commitment, House saw this as the end of the line; aside from marriage, of course. He didn't introduce his mother to just anyone and he knew this was his ace in the hole. There was no questioning his commitment in any way, shape, or form now. This was it._

_"They're malasadas. Here, Greg, hold out the basket will you." House obliged and when his mom pulled back the cloth cover, the room filled with the sugary smell. "They're a Portuguese doughnut, popular in Hawaii where I learned how to make them. Please, try one."_

_Sophie and Wilson both reached for one and took a bite. While Sophie looked pleased, Wilson moaned his appreciation and closed his eyes blissfully. House had to bite his tongue to keep from making a quip about how he knew other ways of making Wilson sound like that. There was only so much a mother could handle; two in this case._

_"These were Greg's favorite as a kid. He was four when I first made them." She extended a hand and rubbed his arm in a very motherly gesture. "He'd been playing with his friend next door, her name was Kelly, I think, and he came back home to watch General Hospital, which was new at the time." He could feel a blush rising in his cheeks and he didn't dare look towards Wilson. "Anyway, he smelled these and he came into the kitchen and in the sweetest little voice he said, 'Mama, can I have one, please?' Oh, I just about died." House could sympathize because he felt closer to death with every word she said. "He looked up at me with his big blue eyes and the most earnest look I've ever seen, he looked just like a puppy, and I couldn't say no. I gave him one and he loved it. And then, oh goodness, he said the cutest thing." Dear god, he could not imagine how much worse this could get but she evidently found a way. "He said, 'Mama, if I married you, would you make these every day?' When I explained I was already married to his father, he was so upset he cried, but said he, 'respected my predicament.' But I promised him that if he ever did get married, I would make a whole bunch of these for him. And I really would love to do that, if you catch my meaning."_

_Blythe, for the last year or so, had becoming increasingly unsubtle in asking why him and Wilson were not married yet. House took it as a sign that he was on the right track with his marriage considerations because, as much as she had loved Stacy, she had never asked them about marriage. When he decided on his anniversary surprise, he told her that she could go after Wilson with her complaints, all she had to do was not implicate him in doing it. She could do anything, even embarrass him if she wanted, as long as she was as unsubtle with Wilson as she was with him. He should've known she would take that to heart because he temporarily found religion just so he could pray for a lightening bolt to take him out._

_"Yes, why haven't you married Greg yet, James?" Sophie chimed in, turning her beguiling brown eyes on her son. "You're normally so good at getting married when you're in love. He's already family, why can't you make it official? Why haven't you made an honest man of him yet?"_

_Did House need another reason to love Sophie Wilson? No, no he didn't, but he got one. He would kiss her if he didn't think it would side-track the conversation._

_All eyes were on Wilson. He had gone from laughing at House's expense to paling under the scrutiny of two upset mothers wanting a new son-in-law. Only when he was stressed and nervous did he fidget as badly as he did. Feet shifting, looking away from everyone, one hand on his hip and the other rubbing along the back of his neck. He was put on the spot and he was cracking under the pressure. House almost felt bad until Wilson fortified himself and his body became lax again in a convincing display of comfort._

_"Stimulating his dorsolateral prefrontal cortex couldn't make an honest man of him," Wilson chuckled and took another malasada. "You know, Blythe, these really are fantastic. My mom here makes a wonderful sufganiyot. Perhaps you should consider exchanging recipes."_

_And that was it. Wilson, the silver-tongued bastard, had successfully derailed the moms from marriage talk and onto family recipes and their own kitchen experiments. House wasn't discouraged, it was only his first attempt at testing the waters after all, but he was disappointed Wilson had wiggled out of it so easily. With a shrug to himself, he set the malasadas aside and followed the moms and Wilson out to the veranda for a drink._

The meeting of the moms turned out to not be the last time Blythe and Sophie spoke. They started exchanging letters soon after and occasionally slipping each other a recipe or two, with a few phone calls thrown into the mix, probably to commiserate about not being related because their sons sucked. Blythe didn't have many friends and her budding relationship with Sophie made him smile whenever he thought about it. It seemed that all Houses were meant to have a Wilson.

Because the family reunion happened about two months before their anniversary, House had to wait longer than usual for Wilson's annual anniversary trip. That year, he flew them out to Chicago for a Buddy Guy show in an intimate little blues club. House had listened to him since he was young and getting to see him was something like a dream come true. Afterwards, they got some authentic deep dish pizza, during which House teased Wilson that if he kept eating at the pace he was going, he would lose his 'girlish figure.' That got no more of a response than Wilson rolling his eyes and taking an extra big bite. They also attended a Cubs game at Wrigley Field, House wearing a Yankees jersey just for the pleasure of being an ass rather than out of actual allegiance.

And much like the previous year, the real present was waiting for for him when they arrived home. Lying on the coffee table in his room was a battered old guitar case. Upon opening it, House was shocked into speechlessness. Inside was one of B.B. King's earliest Lucilles, signed and dated by the man himself. He couldn't begin to imagine the work Wilson had gone through to find it, nor the price tag attached to it. He caressed the edge lightly, marveling at the piece of musical history he now possessed, when a feeling of melancholy overcame him.

Every other anniversary trip they shared had been about them. Vegas was something they used to periodically discuss doing, they both loved monster trucks, and New Orleans was where they met and never left each other's life. The concert in Chicago was undeniably all about about him since Wilson was more into jazz than blues and the guitar was going to hang in House's room. It didn't benefit Wilson in anyway. Wilson, now having accepted they were never going to marry, had reverted back to what he always did: dote on House without consideration for himself.

That night, House popped two extra Vicodin to ease the ache in his leg and faked tiredness to get out of having sex. He laid awake for hours after Wilson had drifted off, staring at the ceiling and not denying the sinking feeling gripping his heart.

He was devastated.

Somehow, someway, he had to find a way to fix this. He would find a way, he always did, and it would end with them getting married. They would end up happy or he would die trying to make it happen.

 

This is the story of House and Wilson's fifth year...


	2. Year Five

The first grain of sand on the beach of House's fears that he was losing Wilson came in the most unexpected way and its importance didn't hit him until weeks later.

Knowing that Wilson had an early meeting with Cuddy the next day, House had decided to play one of his more innocuous pranks and hid Wilson's blow dryer. Wanting to witness Wilson's frustration, but not tip him off that something was up, he pretended to still be asleep when Wilson shut off his alarm clock and shuffled into the bathroom. He drifted in a semi-conscious state until he heard the shower shut off, then perked up, preparing himself for the show. He gave Wilson two minutes to realize the theft.

"House!"

_One minute and twenty-four seconds_ , House thought with a smirk. _He really is in a hurry_.

"Yes, honey bunch?" he called back in an innocent tone that fooled no one, not even Cameron at her greenest and most in love.

"I don't have time for this!" House's smile grew as he heard Wilson frantically searching through the shelves under the sink. "I have to be in in forty-five minutes and my hair takes fifteen minutes to do!"

Sometimes he really couldn't believe Wilson had once fucked women on a regular basis. "Has years of tappin' this ass anesthetized you to how gay that sounded?"

"Hand it over or I'm not making macadamia nut pancakes for a month."

There was a comeback on the tip of his tongue that there were nuts Wilson also wouldn't be getting for a month if he enacted his threat, but it was silenced when the threatener in question came storming out of the bathroom wearing only black boxer briefs and an irritated expression. His hair was wet and dripping, the water droplets leaving shimmering trails down his neck and chest.

House was mesmerized. He'd known that since their return from Chicago over two months ago, Wilson had been eating better and playing tennis on nights he knew House was busy. Because they ate most meals together, House and been somewhat swept into Wilson's better eating habits and lost a bit of weight as a result, but the tennis playing was clearly showing its influence on Wilson's body. His arms were getting toned, pecs firmed, and his abs - while not chiseled - were more defined. And his legs, House couldn't risk focusing on them beyond the thought that he'd like nothing more than to get between them.

Throwing the covers off of him as if they had personally offended him, House limped towards Wilson with a single motivation pushing him forward, the sparks of pain in his leg dulled by the raw quality of his lust. Once he was within reaching distance, he put a hand around the back of Wilson's neck and pulled him into his arms.

The kiss had no build up, it started intense and built from there. His hands were relentless in their search for purpose, whether it be tugging on the longer strands of Wilson's hair or grabbing at the soft flesh of his sides. House knew that at times like this, when he was so blinded by his passion he got lost in the fire of it, he forgot his own strength. The last time it happened, Wilson walked away from it sporting a bite mark on his neck, a split lip, various bruises, and an impressive array of scratches down his back. It wasn't nearly as bad every time, but House always felt guilty about treating him so harshly in his attempt to consume him in the only way he knew how, in the way his body craved. Because that's what it was, an attempt to consume the person he loved so much it struck fear in him if he thought on it for too long.

And god, it didn't help that Wilson craved these moments, too. He would throw caution to the wind and let it happen, whether he was supposed to be doing something else or not. Wilson carried no sense of shame in the bedroom, but when these moments happened his shamelessness reached new and exciting heights. He would groan, scream, and writhe, effectively fueling the fire that burned through every synapse in House's mind. Whatever House wanted to happen, Wilson would let him do it with a sparkle in his eye and a moan on his lips.

Now was no different. Wilson gasped his name when House released his lips and moved his mouth to his neck, trying to control the amount of pressure that went into his bite so it wouldn't mark, and probably failing miserably. The hand not grasping Wilson's neck slunk into his boxers and grabbed his ass, his nails scratching along the muscle. His response was to press against him harder, their arousal evident as they moved against each other. Wilson was trembling and swearing a litany of invective in House's ear and he heard not a one of them, only registering the greedy hands sinking into his skin, holding on for dear life.

House couldn't stand it anymore, the feeling of his body temperature rising and the shakiness of his shallow breaths building towards a crescendo in his blood. Roughly stripping Wilson of his boxers, he pulled away from him only far enough to get his hands on his chest and shove him onto the bed. Wilson landed with a loud exhale, the sound driving House forward to clamp his hands down on his thighs, his thumbs pressing into the pressure points, trying to make him fell the same desperate edge of pleasure he did. The moan Wilson emitted reverberated through the room and seemed to bounce around in House's chest, the sensation making his breath catch. Bending over him, House pushed his hands under Wilson's ribs to force his back into a lovely arch and finally took him into his mouth.

Wilson's cry was a boon to his arousal, House riding the high of it and needing to close his eyes against the assault on his senses as he moved his mouth over him. A familiar and potent feeling was pooling in his gut, its warmth making him quake and moan without inhibition around Wilson. Opening his eyes again, he took in the sight of Wilson laid bare before him, trails from his wet hair and sweat shimmering in the sunlight bathing every inch of his skin. It made for a delicious sight, his own personal Adonis writhing from the best fucking his mouth could provide. There was a telltale twitching in Wilson's lower ab muscles and House, recognizing they were both close to their release, freed one of his hands from its hold on Wilson and slapped it against his solar plexus, digging his nails in and swiftly dragging them down his stomach.

Several things happened in one blinding moment of sensation. The arch of Wilson's back became more pronounced as his orgasm hit and he threw his head back and to the side, his agonized scream partially muffled by the comforter. One hand clinched tightly to the footboard and the other reached for House's head, his hair just long enough for Wilson to thread his fingers through and pull. The jagged sparks of pain zipping across his nerves gave him the final push towards the edge he needed. Reaching into his boxers, he pulled himself out and with a few rough strokes he was awash with his own orgasm, his moans adding to Wilson's aftershocks as he continued to swallow around him. Only once they were both becoming oversensitive did House pull off and collapse to his knees between Wilson's legs, swiftly turning so he was sitting on the floor with his legs splayed out in front of him.

Resting the side of his face against Wilson's calf, House closed his eyes and attempted to catch his breath, absently licking his lips to make sure he didn't miss anything. His orgasms after times like these were always intense, but this time he would swear he nearly passed out. It was like coming down from an adrenaline rush, his hands were still shaking, various other muscles were periodically twitching and, best of all, for a blessed minute his leg was silent. He basked in these still seconds, feeling like he was just any other man who'd had himself a bout of raucous, spirited sex. The fantasy was starting to fade at the edges, but he clung to it for all it was worth.

"Does sex hair count as doing my hair?"

House giggled, the endorphins spilling into his system freeing him from his ability to reign in his reactions. Flailing a hand under the bed, he found a cord and pulled on it until the missing blow dryer slid out from its hiding place. He grabbed it and threw it up onto the bed.

"Gosh, I just don't know. I think I'm going to need to call Cuddy in for a consult. She has such luscious locks."

"Chase has better."

"True, but I think we owe Cuddy a thrill as restitution for your lateness. Get her all hot and bothered while talking about requisitions. Hubba hubba."

Wilson moved his leg and before he gathered enough wits to complain, Wilson's flushed, happy face was next to his. "I have to start getting ready, but thanks for the morning delight."

"If I behave during my clinic hours, can I get a little afternoon delight?"

"Not one complaint," Wilson clarified, bending in for a light kiss. "If you do that, I can promise more than a _little_ afternoon delight."

House smirked, pleased that he managed to deal himself into getting a reward for the clinic hours he wouldn't be able to finagle his way out of. And Wilson so rarely allowed them to do anything at work, always babbling about professionalism or some such nonsense, so the incentive to win was great.

Wilson moved so he was directly above him and leaned down for an upside down kiss. It lingered for a few seconds before the contact disappeared and he heard Wilson getting off the bed.

"Spiderman kisses are lame unless you're wearing a wet t-shirt!"

"I'm shirtless and wet. I think you got the better deal," Wilson called back from the closet. "And you like Spiderman kisses anyway. I wonder what that says about you..." he then trailed off, as if he really was pondering the thought and not just teasing him.

Chuckling quietly to himself, House gave him the point and finally deigned to collect himself from the floor, flopping back onto the bed and vowing to not move for the next several hours. After all, he'd need a nap to prepare for a jampacked day of soap operas, clinic hours, lunch with Wilson, and some fun on Wilson's new office couch, assuming he could pull off nice and affable for two hours. In the end, it really wouldn't matter though. He could enjoy that delectable body whenever he wanted to.

The weight loss turned out to not be the only change Wilson was making to his appearance. The following weekend he scheduled a hair appointment and instead of getting his usual cut, House was surprised to see he got the works. His hair was getting long and he was evidently electing to let it grow out further, getting it trimmed and layered into the beginnings of the long, floppy cut he used to have. Wilson had also gotten it colored so it was as dark as when House had met him and had the benefit of getting rid of the grey hair around his temples. The prissy bitch had even gotten his hair deep conditioned so it was shinier than a new penny. Combined with what the weight loss did for his face, namely making his cheekbones sharp enough to cut diamonds, Wilson had shaved at least a decade off his appearance. He looked gorgeous.

Considering the natural progression of things, House really should have seen what happened next coming from a mile away. While Wilson had been buying new clothes as he lost weight, they never fit quite right because he was still dropping weight, having not yet reached his goal. By the end of the month, it seemed that he had finally hit his mark because he scheduled an appointment with a tailor and gleefully informed House that he was doing a complete overhaul of his wardrobe. House, deciding to take this admission for the goldmine of gay jokes that it was, neglected to account for the fact that Wilson might be upgrading to a _better_ wardrobe. When the whole kit and caboodle got hand delivered, House was horrified to see that the trousers and shirts were flawlessly tailored to Wilson's new weight and the ties were of the more modern skinny tie persuasion. In other words, not one of the new items were hideous and worthy of mocking.

"As you have no doubt noted," Wilson started as he grabbed a new dark forest green tie and wrapped it around House's neck, gently pulling him in. "These new ties are, in fact, not 'vomit inducing.' Whatever will you do now that you won't be tempted to set them all on fire?"

Wilson couldn't be farther from the truth if he tried. House was very much fighting the desire to set not only every one of the new ties on fire, but the entire fucking wardrobe. Even at the height of his panty peeling revelry, the one thing the entire hospital agreed with House on is that while Wilson dressed well, he didn't dress to impress, to say the least. He wore boring colors, everything was fitted more for comfort than appeal, and his ties truly were hideous. The lack of sex appeal in his wardrobe had kept away the more shallow women who might otherwise throw themselves at the handsome and successful doctor. That barrier wouldn't exist now.

New body, new hair, and now a new fashionable wardrobe. Perfect. Just fucking perfect.

"Don't worry. I still want to set them all on fire." House was ready to lie and go on a diatribe about the hideousness of the new wardrobe, but he couldn't do it. At the simple statement, Wilson's seductive look dropped into a crestfallen expression. House had made a resolve to himself after the Chicago trip to put his relationship with Wilson back on track and on the path of getting married; dousing his good mood just because of a stupid insecurity wouldn't help. So, he plastered on a heated look and gave Wilson a thorough once over. "Along with everything else. Your birthday suit is all you need."

House was relieved when Wilson smiled and laughed.

"Naked oncology. I've been pushing the measure for months, but for some reason, the board just won't see reason."

"They should. Exposure to your hot bod will increase remissions tenfold in women and bent men, all of them hoping to hop on your spire of healing for some life-affirming nookie."

Wilson paused. "Did you just imply that my dick could cure cancer?"

"Look at me! I don't have cancer and I've been riding that dick for years!"

Both dissolved into laughter and before long Wilson was happily pushing the clothing rack into their bedroom to hang everything carefully in the closet. A thrilling benefit was that Wilson, feeling magnanimous in his clothing delirium, gave House permission to burn all of his old ties (not the outfits; those were getting donated). House was honestly excited by the prospect, thought about throwing a Burn All of Wilson's Ugly Ties party, but before he could make a move to enact any of his plans, he remembered that they were driving into New York in a few hours for the symphony. Wilson, truly living up to the upper-class gay stereotype, loved the symphony and House, also living up to the upper-class gay stereotype and trying to solidify his gayness by trying to marry his man, got them tickets as a Big Gesture in his plan to get hitched. Looking especially eager, Wilson put his garment bag containing a new tuxedo in the car along with House's and drove them into the city, only stopping once they reached their hotel.

It didn't take long to figure out why Wilson was so eager. House had used the bathroom to get ready first since he had less to do, just tidying up his beard and actually putting effort into taming his hair, then it was Wilson's turn. He didn't emerge for an hour and when House was getting ready to pitch a bitch about the time, which was a frankly astounding turn in their roles, Wilson came out. In that moment, House wished he hadn't, or had at least given him a heads up to prepare himself.

Wilson was wearing what was quite possibly the most beautiful tuxedo he'd ever seen. High collared, pressed dress shirt with ivory buttons. White bow tie. White silk waistcoat. Black silk-lapel jacket with tails. Italian cut trousers. Dress shoes shined to high heaven. He was a vision in silk and Italian wool. House could feel his heart rate pick up a notch and before he was able to stop himself, he moaned like a slut begging for it. Maybe he was; he really couldn't accurately account for what he was thinking in that moment.

"I'm going to go out on a limb here and say you like it," Wilson teased in a seductive tone, his gait towards him radiating confidence and sex appeal.

"That thing -," he started, his breath hitching like a teenager's before his first school dance. House coughed to clear his throat. "That thing should come with a warning label."

"It does. Maybe I'll let you find it later."

With Wilson up close and personal now, House could smell the splash of Creed cologne he favored for formal events and see the smoothness of his face. His hair was styled into the sleek pompadour style that was gaining traction again with men with enough hair to pull it off. It was obscene how completely fuckable he looked.

Running his hand slowly down Wilson's chest, House thought on his flirtatious offer. "Maybe I don't want to wait."

Wilson caught his hand before he got to where he'd been aiming.

"If you get any further, we'll never leave," he chuckled. Crooking his fingers in a 'come hither' gesture, he said, "Tilt your head up."

Obeying without a second thought, House tilted his head back a bit to allow Wilson room to adjust his bow tie and glanced sideways into the full length mirror. He, too, was wearing his best tuxedo and he looked good - he knew he did - but there was a big difference between the way he looked and the way Wilson did.

House was a titan in the field of medicine, the Obi-Wan of diagnostics, whatever. The point was, he was the best and legendary because of his thirty or so years of crazy theories saving the collective asses of those left out in the cold for death. It also meant that he was older and standing there in his regal - but traditional - tuxedo beside Wilson, he looked like a man who knew his standing and through that standing acquired a beautiful young man to fawn over him and make him look good. Years ago he might have laughed at the notion of people looking at them and seeing Wilson as his kept man, but in that suspended moment, all it did was serve to make House see and feel every year of the nearly ten separating them.

Plus, it was a touch ironic that the kept man analogy was more true in the reverse. Wilson made far more money than he did, mainly because he was a renowned doctor that wasn't considered a walking, talking malpractice lawsuit, and he was the one with the power in their relationship. House could huff and puff all he liked, but he knew that he was the one that risked getting left in the dust every time he fucked up. Wilson had nothing to worry about because House wasn't capable of leaving him, and if Wilson was smart - which he was - then he knew that, too.

"Hey, where did you go?"

Looking back down at Wilson, House shook his head and rid himself of the dreary thoughts that had been fluttering through. He wasn't going to piss on a night he himself had planned to make himself look more like husband material. A husband would not become all doom and gloom just before a night on the town; a husband would put on a smile and entertain his man.

"Pass me my hat."

Wilson walked over and retrieved the top hat sitting on the bed. "This really is a stunning hat."

"You think so?" House asked and then performed a spinning hat trick before placing it on his head. Wilson's face split into a youthful, beatific smile. "I got more where that came from."

"Really?"

House smiled back and chuckled, his previous morose vanishing in the face of Wilson's enthusiasm. "Really. I'll show you sometime."

Before they could get further side-tracked, House retrieved the cane he bought to go along with his tuxedo and escorted Wilson out of the hotel to the limo awaiting them on the curb. His somber thoughts remained forgotten until they walked into the hospital on Monday. Wilson had decided to take his new wardrobe for a spin and in the short amount of time it had taken them to walk through the lobby and into the elevator, House started contemplating commissioning someone to make him a cane with a sword in the handle because it was looking increasingly like he was going to have to fight for Wilson's hand from potential suitors.

"If that motherfucker calls me one more time," Wilson muttered darkly as he leafed through his pink 'inquiries' slips.

"Which motherfucker?"

"The motherfucker who keeps offering me a job at Cedars-Sinai in LA," he said with annoyance, oblivious to the flash of panic on House's face as he kept sifting through his mail. "I shot them down a few years ago, but they've been on my ass ever since I published that paper in JAMA on stem cell treatments in women who've already been treated for breast cancer that presented with BRCA mutations. Think it would be insensitive if I told them they were a tumor I want excised?"

House ignored the black humor. He had more important matters to worry about. "What are they offering you? If the deal includes Scarlett Johansson, you might want to reconsider."

"I told them I could only be swayed for Lucy Liu."

The elevator doors opened and they walked out, but House stopped Wilson with a hand on his arm before he could head to his office.

"Seriously, what are they offering?"

Wilson shuffled his feet and looked around nervously before speaking. "A lot. Same positions I have here, plus freedom of choice on my projects with minimal oversight. Four weeks vacation time a year and periodic sabbatical options. Moving expenses."

That was the sweetest deal House had ever heard and Wilson hadn't even mentioned his salary yet. He could feel cold dread pooling in his stomach. "Oh, don't you go leaving out the best part."

"$300,000," he said, pink rising in his cheeks as if he were embarrassed. "Starting."

House stared at him in shock. That was almost twice what he made now, not to mention all the sweet perks that came along with it. It was the kind of deal that made even the most faithful of lapdogs slap on the sunscreen and board the first plane out. No matter what way he cut it, a cushy job like that beat a relationship with a bitter, misanthropic, crippled drug addict who was an asshole for kicks. How he hadn't already lost Wilson to a tan and warm beaches was beyond him.

"And you didn't accept, why? Shooting for half a mill and Lucy Liu _and_ Scarlett Johansson?"

Wilson looked homicidal. "Are you fucking serious?" he asked scathingly. It was apparently a rhetorical question because he didn't give him time to answer. "Twenty years together. Almost nineteen working together and _together_ together for over four. And you ask me why I didn't take the deal? I don't know what this relationship means to you, but it means more to me than $300,000 and a killer parking space."

Nearly every day, House was presented with an opportunity to feel like an ass, but rarely did he venture into actually feeling it. But seeing the hurt in Wilson's eyes as he turned from him, he instantly felt like the scum of the earth and he didn't bother to suppress the feeling. He felt every modicum of that negativity, knowing he deserved it with every fiber of his being.

It was times like this when he just didn't understand why Wilson put up with him. He hurt him frequently, whether he meant to or not. Wilson deserved so much better and if House wasn't a selfish man to his core, he'd give up his pursuit to marry him and let him fuck off to California. But he _was_ selfish, so he reached out and grabbed Wilson by his wrist before he could walk away, pulling him until he was squarely in his personal space, not caring where they were or how it might look. Letting go, he daringly moved his hand to cup the side of Wilson's head, thumb slowly caressing his cheekbone.

"I don't want you to go," he admitted, his voice somber and achingly sincere. "I love you."

Just as he'd hoped it would, Wilson's anger melted away, but was disconcertingly replaced with a look of understanding and abject misery. "God, House. When will you finally understand that I love you just as much as you love me?"

_Never_ , he thought about replying, but bit his tongue. "When pigs fly."

"They sell flying pigs in toy stores now, I'll have you know."

"Pigs that need batteries shoved up their butt to work don't count."

Wilson smirked and leaned forward for a kiss, which House willingly gave him. He lingered for longer than absolutely necessary before pulling away. Wilson started walking towards his office backwards.

"Lunch at the deli down the street?"

"Sure," House replied, and just as Wilson was about to enter his office, he saw the startlingly large confab happening in his conference room. "What in the fresh hell is this?"

Curiosity killed the Wilson cat and he came back over to stand next to House. He seemed just as baffled by the congregation. "Staging a coup? Took them long enough to finally move against their fascist overlord."

House rolled his eyes. "Fascism is godhood for pussies."

Walking towards the room, knowing he had Wilson in tow, House barged in and made their presence known by announcing, "I'll have you know you all just missed a super hot make out sesh in the hall. Me, Wilson, and Lou the janitor. Must see TV."

Cuddy looked up from the huddle around the table and he could now see they were all focusing on a computer screen. Her eyes were sparkling impishly. "I'd rather have caught the after-party in New York. Much hotter."

House blinked. "How do you know we were in New York?"

It was Cameron who looked up this time, spots of pink coloring her cheeks. "You're on Page Six."

"And Wilson," Chase added, eyes still glued to the screen.

"Especially Wilson," Taub finished, who looked flustered and pissed off about it.

Foreman got up from where he was leaning against the back of Chase's chair. "Who would've guessed you own a top hat. I didn't think you had it in you." House was ready to say he has _definitely_ had it in him, but was stopped when Foreman did a double take when he noticed Wilson behind his shoulder and gave him an appreciative once over. "Damn."

The sword-cane moved to the top of his to-do list. It was bad enough when he thought he would just have to fight off hoards of women and gays. Now he would have to add straight dudes to the list. He would also have to grab the lesbian nurse from pediatrics later to see if had to add lesbians. Maybe he just had to add the whole sexuality spectrum. That was a ridiculously long list and he would need the sword-cane. Maybe two.

"Eyes off the prize, Foreman! He's mine."

"What are you going to do about the all the people in the privacy of their homes gawking at him?" Thirteen teased, looking up and noticing Wilson in much the same way Foreman had. House briefly thought about how hot a threesome between her, Wilson, and Foreman might be, but shut it down fast. They weren't getting their greedy hands anywhere near his favorite oncologist.

"Wardrobe revamp" Wilson said happily, running his hand down his dark purple tie, her eyes following the movement with interest. "I thought it was about time I started fresh."

Masters looked up next and her eyes became wide as saucers. House could notice even from his distance that her pupils dilated. "Oh, uh, hi, Dr. Wilson. I - well, I like it. It's... nice."

Before the situation could get more out of hand, House imperiously raised his cane and pointed at those around the table. "Okay, that's it. Pass me the laptop or you all get caned." House paused. "Except for Chase. He'd like it."

Predictably, Chase rolled his eyes and pushed the laptop away with reluctance. Kutner then took it and was very slow to turn it towards House, eyes still firmly on the screen. "You have nothing to worry about. You and Wilson look great." He then seemed to remember he was a doctor that worked in a hospital and there were symptoms on the whiteboard. "Don't we have a patient?"

House ignored every word that flew out of his mouth. The matter at hand was way more important than someone suffering from - he quickly glanced up at the board - hypertension, night terrors, and bleeding from the eyes.

Pulling the laptop close, he saw a picture of him and Wilson at the symphony posted on the Page Six website, known for posting gossip about celebrities and socialites. House had an arm around Wilson, he recalled he'd been resting it on the small of his back, and Wilson looked stunning, one hand in his pocket and the other holding a flute of champagne. He looked like a model, the kind who didn't bother putting any effort into their facial expression because they were good looking no matter what they did. It _was_ a great picture.

And, just as he'd observed before they left their hotel, he looked like a dignified older gentleman with his much younger paramour. He felt vaguely embarrassed.

"Proof that House is both romantic and capable of not looking like a well-dressed hobo," Wilson said with affection, leaning into House's side to get a look at the picture. "I would say to alert the press, but they beat me to it."

Scrolling a bit, House read the caption beneath the photo:

_Dr. James Wilson (right) stunned concert goers Saturday night before a performance from the London Philharmonic by wearing a fresh off the runway Tom Ford tuxedo. He is pictured with his partner, Dr. Gregory House, who is wearing vintage Burberry._

"Vintage Burberry," Thirteen said playfully as she tapped the screen. "Could you get any gayer?"

"Only if I liked dick," House groused, thankful for the reprieve. Pretending to be shocked, he slapped a hand over his mouth and gasped. "Oh, wait!"

Soon enough everyone was raving about Wilson's new wardrobe and House had to break it up by focusing everyone's attention on the patient. "For God's sake! The poor man is dying," he shouted, only to get disbelieving glares in response. He had them running off in minutes, whether it be to their usual jobs or performing tests, which left him alone in his office twirling his cane and watching soaps. If he popped an extra Vicodin for the twinge of pain in his thigh, nobody had to know.

Wilsonmania seemed to finally simmer down to a slow boil in the hospital after a few weeks, much to House's relief, but his new look was still making a lot of noise and House resented a lot of what he heard. Some were just commenting that his wardrobe wasn't a crime against humanity anymore, which House agreed with so he let those ones go. Others were speculating on why the change happened at all, whether it was health related or he was in the throes of a mid-life crisis.

The worst were the ones suggesting he was preparing to leave House and the new look was to allow him to reclaim the title of most eligible bachelor when he did so. The first time he heard that one, House took far too much Vicodin and went home with the intention of fucking Wilson into the mattress, but started a fight instead.

By the time Wilson's birthday rolled around, their relationship had regressed back to what it was like when they were just friends. They bickered over stupid things, played pranks that could turn mean spirited at the drop of a hat, and the emotional tension between them started to mount because they weren't talking about what was bothering them. Well, Wilson was talking plenty about the emotional chasm between them, asking, begging even, for House to tell him what was wrong. House deflected his attempts because really, how do you say 'it's bothering me that you're hot, I'm old, and I want to marry but you don't want to marry me.' The fact that his Vicodin intake had nearly doubled was something he studiously didn't think about.

House wasn't happy about the downturn in their relationship; in fact, he was downright miserable about it, but he was determined to turn it around. The first step in accomplishing his goal was to remember Wilson's birthday. He charged Masters with giving him reminders since she was the least likely to forget, mainly because she thought they were just _so cute_ together. Then when the date was fast approaching, he enlisted the help of Kutner, whose super hot, super nerdy girlfriend owned the Rialto, a classic movie theater. When the date finally arrived, he was more than ready to turn a fresh page with Wilson, marriage still on his mind, but more concerned with their current disconnect.

"Beep beep! The fourth Mrs. Wilson coming through!"

The two nurses trying to get Wilson's attention at the entrance desk fled as he approached. Wilson looked up with a smirk and looked House up and down. "Tragic, spending all that money on a sex change and you didn't even manage to get a pair of shapely breasts out of it."

"Didn't want to make Cuddy jealous or further confuse Thirteen's sexuality. Girlfriend needs to pick a side once and for all!" Wilson laughed and continued filling out the form he was working on. "We're playing hooky today."

"And what's your excuse for it this time? Soap marathon? Urgent napping business? Been too long since you've pissed off Cuddy and it's making you itchy?"

House leaned in until his lips caressed the shell of Wilson's ear. "Happy birthday."

Wilson visibly stiffened and House chuckled. "Come on, Wilson! Did you really think I would never remember this blessed day again?"

"I had kind of hoped not, yeah."

"Sucks for you. It means I'm cramming years of dastardly deeds into a single night of debauchery."

Turning to face him head on, Wilson put his hands on his hips and a worried look on his face. In other words, he was in his natural state of being. "How did you even remember this year? Normally you're so good at forgetting it."

"My guy knows a guy who knows your birthday."

Wilson looked more long suffering than his years allowed. "My mom told your mom who told you."

"That's what I just said."

Throwing his hands up in exasperation, Wilson relented to the inevitable and started walking towards the doors. "Fine, but if I end up arrested or in the clutches of a former prison HBIC named Large Marge, I'll never forgive you."

That scenario was so specific and colorful, House had to pause to think it over. "Sweetheart, have you been reading my Lesbian Prison Stories books again?"

"...maybe."

House had the entire day planned out. First he drove them to the Jersey Shore under the guise of hunting Snooki's and Pauly D's, but really it was to buy Wilson his favorite funnel cake and ride the Ferris wheel. After a few more rides, he drove them to an old book store where he happened to know they had a signed copy of _The Metamorphosis_. They then stopped at home to change into suits so they wouldn't be stopped at the doors of Valentines's, which had a chicken tortellini so good he's pretty sure Wilson would request it as his last meal on death row. The dinner went well and they had only one place left to visit afterward.

Walking into the Rialto, House noticed the long, flaming red hair of Kutner's girlfriend behind the box office.

"Paging Agent Scully!"

She turned around and smiled at him. "I don't know if you should be ashamed or proud that Lawrence knew you'd call me that."

"I'll be proud if call me Mulder."

"I will if you show me your flashlight."

House knew that in another universe, they were friends. Hell, he was in such a good mood he was consider being friends in this one. "Only if you promise to probe me in my special place."

"And it's when the butt jokes start that I need to step in," Wilson said, extending a hand. "James. I have no idea what we're doing here, but the renovations are amazing."

"Charlotte, and thank you," she replied with a giggle. "And you're here because your boyfriend is making this birthday a memorable one. I got a real treat for you. Follow me."

She led them into theater one and House had to give it to her, it was beautifully restored to look like an old theater, but with modern touches like the luxury seats. Picking up a large, circular metal box from a seat, she tilted it towards Wilson with evident excitement.

"Next month when we officially reopen, we are going to be the only theater in the state of New Jersey capable of showing classic film reels in their original print and sound quality, giving as authentic a film experience as possible. Greg found this out from Lawrence and he called me with a very specific request: find _Vertigo_." She held the box out to Wilson, who was looking at it in awe. "In here is an original print of _Vertigo_ , which I am going to be playing for you tonight. And here's the kicker, it's yours. You get to take this beauty home with you after the screening."

Wilson was shocked, hand covering his mouth, wide-eyed shocked. He turned to House, as if needing confirmation that he wasn't just imagining the whole thing. House smiled at him genuinely and nodded.

"Happy birthday, Wilson."

Looking between them, Charlotte laughed and bowed her head. "I'll leave you gentlemen to go set up. Enjoy the movie and each other, although, not too much. The seats are new and I don't want any mystery stains on them yet."

No sooner had she left then Wilson was in his arms, squeezing him tightly. "Fuck, House. This - an original print of _Vertigo_?"

"I thought you'd like it," he said nonchalantly with a shrug, self-conscious about all the positive emotions directed at him.

"Like it!?" Wilson leaned back to look at him and cup his face. "House, this is - this is the best birthday I've ever had. Thank you, really."

"You're welcome."

Wilson looked rapturous watching the movie on the big screen and House, for the first time in a long time, felt a happiness that wasn't jaded by his own traitorous thoughts. Wilson was happy, incandescently so, and it seemed to worm its way into him like some form of emotional osmosis. When they arrived home later, _Vertigo_ being carried like a newborn baby by Wilson, House was relieved he was able perform in the bedroom. In a bad combination of his age and the massive increase in his pill popping, his sex drive had plummeted and the few times they'd had sex in the past few months, they'd been none too gentle with each other. House took care to be that night and, even though the term made him cringe, he focused on making love rather than fucking. They were both thoroughly sated afterwards and when Wilson fell asleep, House watched him for a minute, appreciating how peaceful and lovely he looked. He brushed a stray hair off his forehead and reached for his hand, lacing a few of their fingers together before sleep claimed him as well.

The high of that day lasted for over a month, but started to fade when House did some digging and found out that Wilson still wasn't considering proposing. It was discouraging and House didn't know how to get more obvious without becoming _obvious_ because he couldn't risk Wilson thinking it was all a tease. He was struggling to come up with new methods when one unexpectedly presented itself.

Kutner came into the office early one day, an odd mix of dejection and nerves emanating from him. He delicately placed a heavy cardstock envelope on his desk. It was addressed to 'Drs. House and Wilson.'

"Charlotte proposed to me," he started, keeping his eyes fixed on the envelope. "We're getting married next month."

House picked up the envelope and started rotating it between his thumb and index finger. "Bucking the gender roles. I like it."

"Yeah, I do, too. I just, um -," he stuttered before he steeled himself and relaxed into his usual stance of easy confidence, looking House straight in the eye. House respected that. "I wasn't in a good place when I found her, but seeing you and Wilson together gave me hope that I could find someone, too. And I did and she's great. I love her. I'm not asking you to do anything, but I would appreciate it if you came. It would mean a lot to me."

Kutner's entrance suddenly made a lot more sense. He came in under the assumption that House was going to shoot him down, had resigned himself to that fact, even though he genuinely wanted him to come. While House wasn't usually one to attend things like weddings, he liked Kutner and Charlotte. They were good kids. Maybe if he was still the same mean son of a bitch he was a few years ago he would've said no, but now he had a special appreciation for what it took to walk down the aisle. He was trying to make his own wedding happen and maybe seeing Kutner and Charlotte get married, with House being appropriately supportive, would finally kick Wilson's ass into gear.

"Okay."

"You'll be there?"

He looked so surprised House thought about toying with him for a bit or whipping out some sarcasm, but resisted the urge. "We'll be there."

"Alright. Cool," he said with a huge smile on his face. He quickly walked out of his office and, probably under the assumption that he walked far enough away for House not to see, jumped into the air and fist pumped, startling some nurses. House laughed and opened the envelope to get the details, ready to plot his own operation.

Whatever assumptions House had made about the wedding working in his favor had been wrong. So very, very wrong.

Wilson started the day upbeat, he was always a sucker for a wedding, but it was all downhill from there. During the ceremony, he kept a hand on House's thigh and House, thinking the wedding was making him feel extra affectionate, put his arm around Wilson and ran his thumb in a comforting circle on his shoulder. After the vows were exchanged and everyone stood to applaud, House smiled at Kutner when he looked towards him for affirmation and continued clapping. Looking at Wilson, wanting to share a laugh that Kutner and Charlotte were so nerdy that they had the officiant wear a Darth Vader costume, he saw that Wilson was crying. He could count on one hand how many times he'd seen Wilson cry and not one of them was because he was happy. It was always because he was hurt.

As if sensing House's attention, Wilson quickly wiped away his tears and smiled at him, the smile watery and edged with sadness. "I know, I know. 'Wilson, when did you grow a vagina and where are the tits?' I know."

Before House could stop him, Wilson moved to file out with the rest of the crowd. When he reached the aisle, he waited for House and crooked his elbow for him to take, likely to give him added support in case anyone accidentally bumped into him and not PDA, but House took it anyway. He asked if he was okay, but Wilson brushed off the question.

The reception continued in much the same vein. Wilson acted warmly towards everyone, carrying on conversations and posing for pictures, but there was something distant and remote about him, untouchable by House or anyone else. When they left hours later, they went home to The Penthouse where Wilson popped in Gone with the Wind and was lost to the world for hours. House gave up for the time being, knowing that if Wilson didn't want to talk, he wouldn't, so he tinkered around on his organ until they went to bed.

Weeks passed and Wilson's depression stuck around like a bad case of the clap. House did everything he could think of to snap him out of it: playing pranks, starting fights, sex, upping the obnoxious factor, using his minions to cause chaos, started an honest conversation. None of it got him to crack. In a fit of what House later thought of as a momentary lapse of sanity, he even raided their home and opened every container he could find, making sure Wilson's depression hadn't gotten to the point of him going back on anti-depressants.

A bright spot came when House's birthday rolled around. He was never one to insist on celebrating it, but Wilson always liked to do something. On the day of, Wilson called them out from work so they had an extended weekend, which House very much approved of and would've normally accepted as being birthday present enough, but not for Wilson. No, the saucy bastard flew them out to Pennsylvania without telling House why they were going. When they landed, he said he had some business to take care of and dropped House off at a strip club with a few hundred bucks while he tended to it, which, bless him. God fucking bless, Wilson. A couple hours later, Wilson picked him and drove him out to... the middle of buttfuck nowhere.

"Good location. Nobody will hear me scream."

Wilson chuckled in the cute throaty way House secretly loved. "If I was going to kill you, I wouldn't bring you here."

That piqued House's interest. "Where would you take me to murder me?"

"Cuddy's office, when she discovers you took down the web filters to watch porn."

House had to give it to Wilson, it was ingenious. The plan would ensure that he'd be murdered, but Wilson wouldn't have to get his perfectly manicured hands dirty or hire a hitman, who could turn state's evidence against him. "Touché."

Getting out of the car, they made their way around to the trunk for Wilson's big reveal. He opened the trunk of their rental car with a flourish and House felt his jaw drop when he saw what was inside.

"Happy birthday, House," Wilson said before turning to him with a devilish smirk. "Let's blow some shit up."

See, the thing is, fireworks are illegal in New Jersey. You can't buy them, you sure as hell can't sell them, and to launch them you need a permit. However, one state over in Pennsylvania, they had some of the most lax fireworks laws in the good ole USA. He could see fountains, spinners, sparklers, poppers, torches, sky rockets, bottle rockets, roman candles, and one - very illegal no matter what state they were in - large brocade firework.

"Have I told you I love you lately?"

"Nope," he replied, pulling out a spinner. "Its been awhile since this enabler has heard those three precious words."

"Well, that's a crime because this enabled person loves his enabler very much."

With a quick kiss, House and Wilson were off, launching fireworks and setting off the smaller ones for hours before they got to the main event. Knowing they'd have to get the hell out of dodge after they set it off, they saved the brocade firework for last. Wilson quickly picked up most of their detritus and then ran to the middle of the field they were parked in front of with the brocade. He set it up and after lighting the fuse, he ran back to House, smiling like an idiot the whole way. Wilson made it back into House's waiting arms just in time to turn around and watch the brocade launch and light up the sky with a burst of gold glitter. Only once it completely faded away did they jump back in the car, Wilson driving like a bat out hell to avoid adding another state to his growing list of states he'd been arrested in, both laughing like maniacs until they hit the freeway.

The depression that had been plaguing Wilson slowly, but steadily started to lift after that night. It was a relief to House, but the problem that presented itself soon after was that their anniversary was not a month away and he had no idea what to do for the day. His grand idea had been to slowly convince Wilson to marry him over the year and that would be it for them, but he got nothing. A misery of his own started to creep in and his Vicodin intake, which was already pretty bad even by his lofty standards, increased and was getting more difficult to hide from Wilson. House thought it was pretty ironic that just when Wilson seemed to get back to his usual self, he himself took a turn for the worse.

And, because when it rains it pours, that's when the fatal blow to House's heart came and it came in the form of Dr. Malcolm Dangerfield.

House had caught wind of the infectious disease research dynamo being hired two months or so ago by Princeton University to teach a class on biochemical engineering. He was a young up-and-comer with a resume even House was impressed by, looking much like the resume he probably would've accumulated at that age had he ever been mildly personable. Dangerfield was also ridiculously attractive, fitting the tall, dark, and handsome adage to the letter, likable, and openly gay. House hated him on principle, that principle being that he hated himself so he naturally had to hate this new and improved doppelganger.

Due to PPTH's close ties to Princeton's medical program, House figured it was only a matter of time before he saw Dangerfield in person and he'd been right in the worst way possible.

Walking down the vegetable aisle of the hospital to get to New Coma Guy's room, House was running late for his afternoon soap. Foreman, the brat, had insisted they continued the DDX on their latest patient, which made him fifteen minutes late and very cranky. He was about to turn down the last hallway to his room when he heard a deep voice call out a familiar name.

"James!"

Stopping his momentum, House slowed down and carefully peeked around the corner, catching sight of Wilson walking up to who he recognized as Dr. Malcolm Dangerfield.

"Malcolm, what are you doing down here in produce?" Wilson laughed as he came to stand before him.

"I don't think I'll ever get used to doctor's humor," Dangerfield chuckled and shook his head, his stupid black hair falling stupidly around his stupid face. "I could ask you the same question."

Wilson paused for a moment. "Oh, yeah, um, one of the nurses mentioned a rash on one of the patients and wanted me to check it out."

"Ah. Well, since you're here, I just wanted to know if we're still good for Wednesday night."

_Wednesday night?_ House thought, scouring his mind for any mention of something Wilson was doing on Wednesday night. He came up with zilch.

"I don't know, I'll have to let you know. I don't want House getting suspicious. You know what he's like."

Malcolm leaned in with a flirtatious smirk. "Yeah, God forbid he gets suspicious of how you're keeping your body in shape."

House couldn't watch anymore, rage and betrayal twisting through his gut. He should've known, he should've fucking known it was only a matter of time. He'd ignored the signs and this is what he got, his hand white-knuckling his cane because he wanted nothing more than to swing it at Dangerfield's head like a baseball bat.

Wilson was having an affair.

The rumors had been true. Wilson had started working out, got a new wardrobe, and grew out his hair all so he could leave House, but not have to languish for long on the singles market. And boy did he rebound like a champ, jumping from a cripple like House and into a hottie like Dangerfield's much coveted bed. Once a cheater, always a cheater, House had bitterly running through his head. That depression of his since Kutner's wedding hadn't been because seeing a wedding made him sad because he and House weren't married, it was because he believed they never would be married and he wanted to be, needed to be the little neediness bloodsucker he was to be truly happy. Maybe he could take solace in knowing he'd cheat on Dangerfield, too, but he wasn't ready to go there yet.

House couldn't recall how he got home to The Penthouse, just that he probably broke plenty of speeding limits and traffic laws on his motorcycle doing so. He couldn't keep his thoughts straight, it was like they were spilling all over each other, tainting some and others mixing like oil and water, sending him on a whole new tangent. His bottle of Vicodin was spilled open across the lid of his piano and a bottle of Maker's Mark was cracked open, a quarter gone and he was working on the rest.

Could he tolerate Wilson cheating? They hadn't had sex since his birthday; maybe he just wanted sex from Dangerfield? Was it something he could overlook if it kept Wilson around? House was scared of what he'd turn into without Wilson. It was bad enough when Stacy had left him, but he'd pushed her away. He'd been actively trying to keep Wilson in a more permanent capacity and Wilson walked out on him anyway.

House popped another Vicodin, the searing pain in his leg making him bend over double. He knew he should probably sit down, but he couldn't stop pacing. It felt like if he sat down, he was accepting whatever scraps fate tossed him and he wanted nothing more than to tell fate to go fuck itself, so he kept pacing.

The sun had set by the time House heard the telltale turning of Wilson's key in the door. He took another swig of bourbon and another pill. His head was swimming dangerously and he felt all kinds of wrong, but he couldn't stop. He couldn't fucking stop because he didn't know what would happen if he did.

"House!" Wilson called angrily, he voice booming out of the foyer. He switched the chandelier light on and that's when House realized he'd been pacing in the dark. "Where the hell have you been!? You're team's been calling and -."

Wilson stepped into the living room and froze when he saw House pacing like a madman. House could see his Uh Oh! Red Alert face firmly in place by the light cast out from the foyer. He walked towards him and froze again when he saw the carnage of his bender on the piano.

"House, what happened? What's going on?"

Not bothering to stop, House kept up his pacing, not looking at Wilson. His face broke his heart.

"House, your breathing is erratic and I can tell you're shaking," Wilson said gently, the tone cutting House to pieces. "Tell me what's wrong."

He managed a few more rotations, but then he felt Wilson take hold of his wrist to stop him. The touch burned him and he threw it off hard enough for Wilson to have to recoil.

"Don't touch me!" he roared, loud enough to make his throat sting. He swayed back and forth and had to close his eyes so the room would stop spinning. House couldn't discern anymore how much of his state was from the drugs and booze and how much was a byproduct of his emotional walls crumbling to the ground.

Wilson had his hands up in a placating gesture and he looked about as scared as House felt.

"Okay, House. I won't touch you again, I promise, but I need you to tell me right now if you're OD-ing. I need to get you help if you are."

"I bet you'd like that," he scoffed, walking to the piano and taking another drink. "Quick and easy way to get me out of the picture."

"I - I don't want you dead! I'm trying to keep you alive!" Wilson yelled, his anger overshadowed by his fear. "Why the hell would I want you dead?"

"You have every reason to want me dead. I'm just so needy, but not in the pretty way you love so much. Give the Panty Peeler of Princeton a revival tour. Kind of like KISS, but with less make up and more Volvos."

"I have no idea what you're talking about. Where is this coming from?"

"Where is this coming from?" House laughed sharply without a modicum of humor. "Yes, ignore the implication that you want back in the dating pool and circle it back to me. Very classic Wilson. Bravo!"

Wilson looked like he was on the verge of one of his famous emotional outbursts. "All you're doing is rambling about KISS and me wanting you dead when I'm trying to figure out if you're OD-ing! Now shut the fuck up and tell me what happened."

When House resumed his pacing and didn't respond for over a minute, Wilson turned away from him. "Fine. I'm calling an ambulance. As much fun as it sounds to watch you limp yourself into an OD, I don't feel like being implicated in your death."

"Hoping Dangerfield answers the call? He hasn't been a real doctor in years, but that's okay. I'm sure that's the point. A celebratory fuck over my dead body is more your speed."

"Dangerfield!? What the hell does Dangerfield have to do with this!?"

"I know."

House thought that volley would get some sort of shocked reaction, Wilson freezing or his eyes going wide with guilt, but Wilson just looked ready to scream. Which he did.

"You know what!?"

"How you keep your body in shape," he mocked, knocking back another drink. He couldn't feel his mouth anymore. "I figured I'd kick the bucket so you can make Wednesday. I can't be suspicious if I'm a popsicle in the morgue."

Wilson did freeze then and after a moment, reacted in a way House had not seen coming. He laughed. It was the ugliest, most vitriolic sound he's ever heard. It made his blood run cold and with a surety he couldn't name, he knew he fucked up and he fucked up _bad_.

"You thought I was fucking Dangerfield," Wilson said disbelievingly. His tone was quiet again and that's when Wilson was truly unpredictable. His anger usually ran hot, but when he got quiet, he was more like a wounded animal. He'd strike out, and he'd go for blood. "Yeah, no. Not even close. No, you see, Wednesdays he has lacrosse practice and I've joined him for two or three now. He was teaching me how to play." He laughed again and looked away from House. "I was going to tell you once I got better so you could see me play. I thought you'd like it."

He moved his hands to his hips, but seemed to reconsider and placed them over his face. House stood still as a statue, not knowing what to do or say. "You know, you've said some terrible things to me over the years, but to say I want -." Wilson stopped, trying to collect himself, but tears started spilling out of his eyes. "To say I want you dead... I don't - you've never said anything so awful to me. Never. I can't even look at you right now.

"And to think I was going to - that I was thinking about... to put myself out there for your fucking ridicule!" Wilson seemed to snap then and charged at House's piano, grabbing the bottle of Maker's Mark and hurling it at the mirror with an angry scream.

House flinched away from the sound of the mirror shattering and stared at the floor, unable to move a muscle. He felt numb. So delightfully numb he wouldn't have to feel what was tearing through his mind just yet. Distantly he heard Wilson slam the front door shut and then he knew that he was alone.

Lowering himself gingerly onto his piano bench, House surveyed the damage. Shards of the mirror littered the floor along with glass from the bottle, bourbon filling the cracks between the pieces. Vicodin lay scattered all over his piano. Looking down at his hands, he realized they were shaking.

Wilson was right, much like he always was. If there was one unshakable truth about him, it was that he was always doing his damnedest to keep House safe. Alive. To imply, nevertheless say, that he wanted him dead so he could fuck around was likely not just the worst thing he'd ever said to Wilson, but was likely amongst the worst things he'd ever said period. House wasn't sure if Wilson would ever forgive him for that. He wasn't even sure he deserved it.

Catching his reflection in a mirror shard, House bent down and picked it up. He didn't even recognize the man looking back at him. He didn't want to be that man, the one who said such vicious and patently untrue things to Wilson. House wanted whatever part of him could say those things to die. The tremors in his hands became too much when he started to cry and the shard fell to the floor, splitting into three parts.

House made a decision then, resolving to become a better person, whether Wilson was in his life or not. He owed him that much. What he was was no longer sustainable. He was tearing himself apart at the edges and self-destructing in full view of the one person who deserved so much better. Decision made, he grabbed his cane and left The Penthouse.

After paying the taxi, House limped slowly into PPTH. He knew he must look a fright because the few souls still haunting the entrance looked at him with wide, startled eyes. The elevator ride up to his level was the longest of his life and when he finally walked into his conference room, he registered the loud voices yelling medical terms fall silent at his appearance. He didn't care.

Foreman spoke first, his frustration morphing into concern. "Jesus, House. What happened to you?"

"I'm putting you in charge. I'm not going to be working for a few months."

"What? Why?"

House turned and was surprised to see Cameron, and next to her, Chase. Good. He was going to need him. Glancing around the room, House noted that every fellow he'd had for the last ten years was there. Masters had taken a position over in pediatrics the previous year. Taub was in surgery as a reconstructive surgeon. Thirteen and Kutner were the only ones required to be there. And Foreman, who had evidently gathered the whole gang to help on the case. No wonder Wilson had been pissed when he came home.

"I'm addicted to the pills," he started, the words difficult to say, but necessary. "You'll need to keep me under while I withdraw and watch my vitals like a fat kid looking for the ice cream truck. It's possible I'll go into cardiac arrest or stroke out at some point, the amount I've been taking are in the range for extreme caution. I think it goes without saying that my liver is the chief concern."

"Keep you under?" Thirteen asked, her face grim and anxious. He couldn't blame her. "Why are you going under?"

"Also, if any of you call Wilson before I'm out, you're fired." House needed to keep him far away for as long as possible because, no matter how mad he was at him, or even if they were still together, he knew he might try to talk him out of what he was going to do. It was potentially fatal in his current condition, but he didn't care. He was doing this for him. "If I die, tell him - tell him I love him and I'm sorry."

The room was silent for several oppressive moments before House spoke again.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" he said to Chase, whose back immediately straightened at his imperious tone. Still trained to obey it. "Go prep an OR."

"What am I doing?"

House looked him in the eye, willing him to understand the trust he was placing in him.

"You're amputating my fucking leg."

~~~

Coming into consciousness, the first thing he noticed was a sharpness to his thoughts that hadn't existed for a long time. It shouldn't be possible if he was on morphine, but depending on how long he'd been out, it was possible he wasn't on the party girl stuff anymore.

That was the other thing. No pain. He was sore, he could feel the IV in his arm, but no pain. His plan had worked.

Fluttering his eyes open, House saw Wilson sitting in one of the more comfortable hospital lounge chairs, working his way through patient files. There were dark circles under his eyes, stubble lining his jaw, and his hair wasn't perfectly coiffed. He'd never looked more beautiful.

"Wilson."

The name came out as more of a grunt, but it did catch his attention. He quickly took off his glasses and put aside the patient files. Wilson took his hand and House did his best to return the pressure, grateful to see Wilson at all.

"You OD-ed shortly after your dramatic entrance," Wilson opened with, his fingers tightening slightly. "They had to pump your stomach and your heart stopped. Once you were stabilized and out of danger, Chase amputated your leg, salvaging enough so you wouldn't need a hemipelvectomy. You threw a clot and had a mini-stroke, but there's no lasting damage. Tests showed your liver was tanking and your kidneys weren't working optimally. If you didn't do what you did, when you did it..." Wilson trailed off, looking out at the night sky through the hospital windows. "Your kidneys are fine now, but your liver is going to take some time to heal. Everything else is good. You've been out for fifteen days and the ducklings all took shifts watching your vitals and performing tests, so keep the ball breaking to a minimum when they come see you. They also solved the case you walked out on. Lupus. The initial taking of measurements for you prosthesis is scheduled for three days from now. Which leaves me with one question." Wilson looked so lost, as if he really couldn't imagine why House had done what he'd done after so many years of resistance. "Why did you do this?"

House spared a moment to fume that he'd missed a lupus diagnosis. It would've been only the third of his career. He let it go and resolved to look it over later. He had something to take care of first.

Deciding to go for broke, House cut right to the heart of the matter. "Why did you never ask me to marry you?"

Wilson blinked and seemed to shrink back. House gripped his hand tighter and never looked away, urging him to see that it was an honest question.

"You're serious." He realized and rubbed a hand over his neck nervously. "I - I did, actually. I thought about proposing several times, but I knew you'd never say yes. I thought you'd just mock me, say you weren't one of my wives, and move on. We've been together five years now and I thought about doing it for our anniversary, even if it ended up only being a symbolic gesture to show my commitment to us, but - I just wasn't willing to face you saying no. You never even mentioned wanting to marry Stacy and you were madly in love with her. So, I started working out so I was as fit as when you met me, did my hair, and overhauled my wardrobe so you wouldn't hate it. I thought it would be like us reclaiming all the years we weren't together. Going back to the beginning. I don't know - it was stupid."

House didn't know why, to this very day apparently, Wilson still carried the notion that him and Stacy had had the perfect relationship. Yes, he had been in love with her and yes, he had once thought they would go the distance, but he had been seeing through rose-colored glasses. It was only after her second emergence that he finally saw all the problems she saw all along. He may have loved her, but he also ignored her. Shut her out and forgot important dates. Made her feel alone even when he was sitting right next to her. Stacy put up with it because he was brilliant and she loved him, but they wouldn't have lasted. The infarction may have finally torn them apart, but if cracks weren't already there, they would've survived. But there were and that's why they didn't make it. Never could.

And, as for Wilson undergoing his transformation so they could, in part, experience what it would've been like for them to get together twenty years ago, fuck Wilson for being so romantic. And fuck himself for reading it so wrong. There was a lot of fucking of the not fun variety to go around. Fuck them both. They deserved to fuck each other.

"It wasn't stupid. Maybe I can even play along now. Get my firm ass back." House swallowed tightly, knowing what he had to say next. He was putting them both on the line with it. "And I wouldn't have said no."

Wilson's head snapped up, looking incredulous. "I'm not kidding around, House."

"I'm not either. I've been trying to convince you to propose to me for a year. Thought about it for two. I did this because the man who could... who could say those things to you didn't deserve you. I want to."

House noticed Wilson's eyes were looking watery, but didn't say anything, giving him time to digest all he heard.

"You always mocked me for getting married, said it cursed the relationship. That it was the kiss of death. I don't want that with you."

"I said that because _it was_ the kiss of death," House admitted, continuing before Wilson could interrupt. "For you, it was always the fulfillment of a fairy tale. You picked up the troubled woman, fixed her, and let her marry the prince. But fairy tales aren't real, so your marriages weren't either. Only your bank account would say otherwise. It would be different with me. It wouldn't be the fulfillment of a fairy tale. It's me telling you I need you, and you telling me you need me. It's not a fairy tale, but it is our story."

Wilson got up from his chair and sat down in the area where his bad leg used to be. It made for an odd sight, but House rolled with it.

"House," he said, his voice shaky. He looked nervous, which was insane because House had just practically begged for a proposal. Wilson lifted their clasped hands and kissed the back of House's hand. "Will you marry me?"

There was no point in hiding his reaction. He smiled and nodded his head. "Yes."

Wilson giggled that stupid giggle that scrunched up his whole face and House couldn't _not_ kiss him. After a few kisses, he pulled away and whispered conspiratorially, "Admit it. You're only marrying me because of your super secret amputation fetish."

"Definitely," Wilson sighed, as if it just so _trying_ to say out loud. "I am having a gay old time picture all the positions we'll be able to do now."

Bowing to the absolute brilliance of Wilson's thought process, House admitted that dating Wilson hadn't turned out to be disaster of epic proportions after all.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for your kudos, comments, critiques, angry banshee screams, or whatever you leave for me here or at my tumblr ***[mycroft-silently-judges-you](http://mycroft-silently-judges-you.tumblr.com)***


End file.
